


In the Court of the Crimson King

by undernightlight



Series: Music Inspirations [14]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Luke Alvez needs a hug, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spencer Reid wants to protect, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: Luke’s PTSD is flaring up - he has his good days and bad days - and he does his best to not let it get in the way of his work. And then there aren’t enough hotel rooms - overbooking - and it’s late and they’re all tired and so they have to share rooms and Luke can’t keep it together anymore despite how much he tries.
Relationships: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid
Series: Music Inspirations [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1156637
Comments: 11
Kudos: 109





	In the Court of the Crimson King

**Author's Note:**

> don't we just love some angsty criminal minds fics

His PTSD never went away - and if he was honest he doubted it even would he just got better at hiding it. He could smile when he needed to, laugh and joke, say the right thing. He was still good at his job, because despite the subject matter, Luke was good at burying himself in his work to avoid feeling.

Doing what he did all while dealing with what his past had left him with, was difficult, but Luke couldn’t deny there were upsides, though they might not always be considered that. So often his life was at risk. He could die, easily. One misstep, a misread profile. A bullet or knife or rope or just bare hands. It didn’t scare him like it should, at least not in the moment, but then again, in the moment, he didn’t feel much at all.

He could stay partial that way, objective, but sometimes it was hard to stay motivated, but Luke was good at hiding things he didn’t want to deal with, he’d done it all his life.

When the moment was past however, and only then, would the weight fall on him. The anxiety of the case would flush from his body when he was back home, in the hotel room, in the shower, and he’d struggle to breathe, staggered, shaky breaths as he fought to get air to his lungs. His chest would burn like a match was lit from inside him. He’d have to sit or brace himself or he’d fall, his legs going weak and his vision blurring; sometimes he didn’t have time, and he’d crash to the floor in a heap of flesh and fabric, and when that was the case, he’d stay there, too weak and tired to move.

Sometimes he’d cry. Rare, but not unheard of. And he’d shake and tremble and he couldn’t hold his hands still.

It was all an extension of his trauma, his PTSD, he knew that. He knew it but he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the anxiety from building in him, shooting off like a bottle rocket the first chance it got. He couldn’t stop the headaches, even with the copious amounts of painkillers he kept stashed in his desk and his go-bag and his bathroom cabinet. He couldn’t stop the nightmares that plagued him, the blood or the gunfire or the body parts flying back into him when an IED went off.

But those are the bad days. He had good days though, when he’s not reminded of his Ranger days or of Phil and the Crimson King. He had days that almost felt normal, and even days where everything felt good, like how he’d want them to stay.

# # # # #

Luke was going through a rough patch, it happened, where his nightmares were worse and more frequent, and his brain would let him read the words on pages just a foot away from him. It made the job harder, but as a team, things still got done and done well.

The day had been long. They’d arrived in Adrian, Michigan early that morning and had hit the tarmac running, barely stopping for breaks before they fried themselves. And they were all exhausted as they arrived at the hotel that night. The booking had been shifted around and delayed, and thankfully the hotel was okay with that, given they were federal agents and working to bring young kids back to their parents, but they got to the front desk to discover a problem; overbooking.

They had to share rooms. Not the worse thing, and they’d done it before, but it was just that Luke wanted - needed - to be alone, but that wasn’t an option. Four rooms between the seven of them. They collectively decided that Emily be the lucky one with the room to herself - it was unanimous - and JJ and Tara were kind enough to accept the room with only one bed. Dave and Matt paired off and so did Luke and Spencer, and slowly, they trudged up to their rooms.

It was spacious enough - they wouldn’t be tripping over each other’s feet - and Luke wanted nothing more than to collapse into the bed and sleep for as long as he could. But he was with Spencer, so he carefully set his bag down by the side and toed off his shoes before sitting. Spencer found the TV remote and switched the thing on, perhaps more for background noise than anything else as they started shuffling things about, getting ready and settled for slumber.

Luke didn’t speak much. Spencer did, and Luke was grateful he wasn’t asked questions, because as rude as it was, he wasn’t listening, he didn’t have the energy to concentrate on the words, let alone retain anything. Whether Spencer realised this or not, Luke wasn’t sure, but it was enough.

He tried to read when he got into bed, but the words still didn’t make sense to him, so he quickly gave up and settled down, the TV still playing in the background. Despite the anxiety pulling at his chest and stomach, he was exhausted, and so he collapsed to sleep rather quickly.

# # # # # # 

When Spencer woke up, it was still dark, inside the room and out. The shower was going, he could faintly hear it running through the closed door. The clock on the bedside table read 3:23 in angry red lines. Shifting himself up onto his elbow, he noticed the other bed was empty, comforter thrown back and bunched in a mess.

Spencer wasn’t quite sure what Luke could be doing. Well, he was having a shower by the sound, but why at half three in the morning, he had no idea, but people all functioned differently, and though he was concerned, Spencer had no reason to think much of it other than a strange bit of behaviour Luke had picked up somewhere.

But then twenty minutes passed. Luke was a man for short showers - surprisingly they’d discussed this as a group before, who took the longest in the bathroom, and perhaps unsurprisingly, it was Rossi - and so for a shower to last longer than ten minutes was enough for alert, let alone over twenty.

So Spencer pulled himself from the warmth of his bed, flicking on a bedside lamp which hurt his eyes, and then padded his way across the rough carpet floor to the bathroom door. It was closed, and he knocked, “Luke?” It was all he said, but there was enough of a reaction on the other side, bottles being to the shower floor, a general but startled commotion of one.

There was an extended pause before, “Yeah?” came back. Luke sounded stained, but it was hard to tell through the door.

“Are you alright? It’s an unusual time for a shower.”

“Urm, yeah, yeah, I'm good, just couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh okay. I’ll leave you alone then.”

And he padded back, his feet dragging. Spencer settled back down, but left the lamp on, waiting. Less than five minutes later the water stopped running, and a few minutes after, Luke emerged, silhouetted against the yellow light of the backroom light, in a t-shirt and gym shorts. Luke didn’t linger, quickly turning off the light and getting back into bed, back to Spencer. Even if he wasn’t a profiler, Spencer knew something was wrong.

“Luke?” He asked again, voice quiet.

“Yeah?” The same replied, less delay but just as hoarse and rough.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t sound alright.”

And there was that pause again, like Luke wasn’t expecting questions, like he was unprepared for even the concept, but eventually, “I’m good.”

“You’re not.” Spender knew Luke was lying, and Luke didn’t do anything to defend himself. “Tell me what’s wrong.” But nothing. So Spencer got out of bed and rounded himself to Luke’s side. Even in the dim lighting of just the bedside lamp, Spencer could see the distance on Luke’s face and the redness around his eyes. “Luke?” And Luke’s eyes flickered up to meet his. “Please tell me what’s wrong, I want to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“You don’t know that.”

A pause. “Just go back to bed.”

“Not until I know you’re alright.”

Another pause, and then Luke was pulling himself out of his bed. Spencer stood, looking on, confused. When Luke started pulling on socks, he spoke up. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I'm going for a run."

"Luke, it's nearly four am. You can't go on a run." Luke ignored him. He stood for his go back, a pair of running trainers kept inside - Luke was an active man - but Spencer stood in front of him, blocking his path. “You can’t go on a run,” He reiterated.

Luke’s hands went to his hips. Spencer could see the tension in his jaw, the lip biting, holding back something before he eventually said, voice tone as even as he could get it, “Spencer, move.” His voice was quiet, but the meaning was well conveyed.

“No.”

“Spencer-”

“It’s not good to run from your problems, or go for a run because of your problems.” Perhaps he was overstepping, he very likely was, but Spencer knew what it was like to bottle up feelings, to have them crash down like lead bricks, and he wouldn’t let Luke do the same - one of those ‘do as I say not do as I do’ things.

Luke wasn’t having it, and tried to side step his way around Spencer, but Spencer reached out and grabbed his arms, pulling him back in front, and he didn’t let go. Luke stared down. “Luke, something is wrong. I may not be the person you want to talk to about this sort of stuff, but right now, it’s just you and me here and I’m worried.”

Luke still hadn’t looked up, but Spencer could feel the tension through his muscles. His mouth was clamped shut, jaw tight, and his breathing came in heavy exhales, like he was trying to vent emotions through his lungs and out his nose, but it clearly wasn’t working, not like intended. But Spencer could see the shine in Luke’s eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Luke?” He asked, hoping for something, but there was no response, just stiff nothingness. Spencer wasn’t sure what else to do but hug him. It worked with his other teammates, his other friends, the people he loved, so maybe it would help Luke too. Gently, Spencer relaxed his grip on Luke’s arms, and was relieved to see that he didn’t try to dart passed, and so Spencer carefully stepped forward and slipped his arms around Luke’s shoulders. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to or if you can’t right now, just know that I’m here for you, and I always will be.”

Spencer meant it, and he hoped Luke knew that. It was hard to let words convey it, especially when he could no longer see his face, but careful hands found the way to Spencer’s back, slow and hesitant, so Spencer hoped that Luke at least believed him for now.

The hands were gentle at first but their grip tightened slightly, hands fiddling with the fabric. And then a gentle sob ripped out, sounding so impossibly loud in the silence of the room, and then Spencer closed his hold just a little more too, and a hand came to rest on the back of Luke’s head. Without doing anything else, Luke’s head turned into Spencer, finding warmth in the crook of his neck, hands curling around shirt fabric just a bit tighter, almost desperate.

Spencer knew what that was like, to desperately cling to someone for stability, to need grounding when you didn’t want reality to be reality, when you had to just let it all out of your system because one more minute, one more second, would cause you to explode. So Spencer held on tight, hands moving slightly, small, warm patterns being drawn into the skin. 

The sobs kept coming, getting louder, somehow rougher, but Spencer could feel the wet against the side of his neck. He didn’t mind, it just meant he had to hold on that much tighter and not let go until Luke said it was okay.

They stayed like that for a while. Luke eventually stopped crying, going quiet, hands loosening around the shirt fabric but still not completely letting go, and that was okay. When Luke did pull back, his face was red and puffy, eyes sore and dry, shirt imprint against his cheek. He could barely look at Spencer.

“Are you alright?” was all Spencer could think to ask, and no matter what Luke said, he already knew the honest answer. Part of him was expecting Luke to lie, to say he was fine and crawl back into back, even just a nod, but Luke didn’t do that, didn’t even try to deny it. He shook his head, movements small, hands finally going slack to his side, sliding along Spencer’s waist. “Do you want to talk about it? Is it the case?” Luke shook his head again, though in relation to what question Spencer wasn’t sure, but it was enough for him to know not to pry. “What do you need?”

Luke shrugged, small, but Spencer’s hands were back on his arms so he felt it. It pained him to see a friend so unravelled, though he was sure they all felt like this at times. He wasn’t always privy to it, usually the one losing it on the job, and maybe this was how they all felt when they saw him like this; Spencer didn’t like the feeling one bit.

“I think you need sleep,” he said, and Luke didn’t protest, verbally or physically, when Spencer helped guide him back to his bed though it wasn’t far. “Do you need a drink?” Finally Luke nodded to something. “I’ll be right back.” There were paper cuts in the bathroom, and he filled one half full and brought it back. Handing it over, Luke sipped at it, holding it with both hands, still slightly trembling.

“Anything else?”

“Stay with me, please.” His voice came pleading, weak and desperate, and it wasn’t a tone Spencer was used to hearing from SSA Luke Alvez, but that just amplified the request. Spencer couldn’t say no even if he wanted to, but he didn’t, because if Luke needed this, then Spencer would happily do it, no question.

So Spencer nodded, “I’ll stay.” He could’ve easily walked around to the other side of the bed, but instead Luke shuffled himself, finally getting himself back under the comforter, making enough room for Spencer to follow suit and slide in. He shuffled down to his back, looking up for Luke to follow, and he did, laying on his side facing him, close but it was like he wanted to be closer. Under the comforter, Spencer reached out and found Luke’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, hoping enough of a message would be conveyed, and Luke latched on; what was just a gentle action became something more to Luke, that lifeline, that thing to remind him that reality was reality whether it good or bad but that what was around him was real.

There wasn’t much space between them, but Spencer carefully adjusted himself to eliminate that space; Luke didn’t need to ask with words, Spencer understood. It was enough, as Luke let out a held breath, tension releasing from his body, forehead finding Spencer’s shoulder and pressing against it.

Nothing else was said. Luke fell into sleep not long after, clearly emotionally drained. In the morning, Spencer would ask about it, and he wasn’t sure if he’d get an answer but he’d ask anyway, and if Luke wanted to tell him, then he’d sit with him over coffee and help him get it out, or they’d talk over text message because sometimes saying it to a bright screen is easier than a human face, or maybe he’d get Luke to write it out old school with pen and paper because he found it always helped him so maybe it could help someone else.

He’d do anything to help Luke.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I wish we saw more angst at times. Like, Luke suffers from PTSD, his wiki says so, but it's not touched on a whole lot, and honestly I just with we saw it more in TV shows in general (my biggest petpeeves is TV writers forgetting about a character's trauma and just moving past it like nothing happened and they're suddenly they're fine like they wouldn't be suffering constantly).
> 
> I don't know if I've written this perfectly. I don't suffer from PTSD but I read up on it and tried to get it accurate to my understanding, but would also love to be able to learn more, portray it accurately as possible. I've working on a series of shorts for all of the characters, all just shorts of them dealing with trauma or a heavy case because yeah, I can, and I will not be the writer that forgets to write trauma.


End file.
